The Secret Adventures of Charlotte Brontë by Laura Joh Rowland

Author:Laura Joh Rowland [Rowland, Laura Joh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery & Detective, General, Fiction, Mystery Fiction, Biographical, Murder, Murder - Investigation, Crime, Historical, Biographical Fiction, Investigation, Women Sleuths, London (England), Bront'e; Charlotte, Authors; English, Women Authors; English, 19th Century, Bront'e; Anne, Bront'e; Emily
ISBN: 9781590200339
Google: OK9oAAAAMAAJ
Publisher: Overlook Press
Published: 2008-03-24T18:30:00+00:00

24

THE STEAM PACKET LABORED ACROSS THE ENGLISH CHANNEL, the paddle wheels churning noisily, funnels belching smoke, and sails billowing. I stood on the deck, my eyes dazzled by the vast ocean that sparkled with cobalt, emerald, and aquamarine lights. Ships dotted the rolling waves. Seabirds wheeled high against the sky’s blue brilliance and majestic white clouds. I relished the salty wind. Mr. Slade and I had sailed from London on that day of 14 August, then boarded the Channel packet in Dover. Now the Continent came into view. The coast was a line of golden sunshine, touched with viridian green. As the ship bore me toward that coast I marveled that my quest had once again led me into the past.

Twice before had I made this journey. The first time, in 1842, Papa had escorted Emily and me to school in Brussels. There I found the new sights, acquaintances, and knowledge I had longed for. I also gained other experiences that I could never have anticipated.

It began innocently enough. At age twenty-five I was older than my classmates at the Pensionnat Heger, a Protestant among Catholics, a shy Englishwoman surrounded by gregarious, French-speaking Belgians. The only person who paid me any particular attention was Monsieur Heger, husband of the school’s mistress, a professor who instructed his wife’s pupils. His ruthless criticism of my essays made me cry; his praise thrilled me. He was a small, black-haired, black-bearded man of ugly face and irritable temper, but his keen intellect stimulated my mind. Soon my heart beat fast at the sight of him. In the evenings I chanced to meet him in the garden, where he smoked his cigars and we debated the merits of various authors. I thought of us as master and pupil, nothing more. Not until Emily and I returned home did I realize that I had deeper feelings for M. Heger.

My second voyage across the Channel occurred in 1843. I returned alone to Brussels, eager to take up a position as an English teacher at the school. But Madame Heger began watching me and behaving coldly towards me. I never saw M. Heger except from a distance. Our lessons and talks ceased. Madame had discovered I was in love with her husband, and she had separated us. I stayed in Belgium until my health and spirits failed, and I at last recognized the sin and futility of loving a married man. I returned home, broken and grieving. My punishment was years of writing to M. Heger, begging him for letters that never came. That I loved him, and he cared naught for me, still hurts me. I am still plagued by a sense of unfinished business.

Yet now, by a strange fortune, I found myself again bound for Brussels. I felt a familiar jumble of excitement, fear, and hope. I traveled as if upon a dark, turbulent sea of memory.

Mr. Slade joined me at the railing. His folded arms rested close beside mine; the wind ruffled his black hair. My heartbeat quickened for him as it once had for M.

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